


Familiarity

by LectorEl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, M/M, Ra's: environmental terrorist and asshole extraordinaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7418701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gotham is burning, and it's been a long five centuries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiarity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueThursday](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=BlueThursday).



> This was one of Bluethursday’s prompt, somewhat subversively interpreted. The basic idea was Tim/Damian Grandmother/Grandson interaction, with a side order of unrepentant Ra’s/Tim fluff. Instead, I wrote this thing. I’m not sure if I should apologize or not.
> 
> Originally published on tumblr, March 1st, 2012.

Gotham is burning, and Tim grieves the necessity. Fire purifies. Burn everything down to ash, till the flames scorch the very soil. No more slums. No more dead end alleys. No more labyrinth of streets. Gotham is fading to ash in the wind. His master stands behind him, one hand resting on Tim’s shoulder.

“A city unlike any other,” Tim says quietly, listening to the roar of the flame. “One more thing lost to time.” He leans back against Ra’s chest, letting the older man comfort him.

“Sacrifices must be made, sparrow.” Tim smiles at the nickname. It’s old, old history, from before Tim reached his first hundred years.

“Ends and means, my own. Ends and means.” Tim thinks of the worn velvet cloak that covers his bed. Centuries later, it still has stains from Tim’s blood, spilled so long ago in an age far gone.

Ra’s kisses the tip of his ear, humming in amusement. Tim has always been transparent to him. “Such a morbid thing. What do your followers think?”

“They think it’s a blessing from an ancient god, given to protect me.” Tim sighs in contentment, arching up into Ra’s touch. They see each other so rarely these hectic days.

“A god? I had no idea you thought so highly of me.” Tim can hear the smile in his master’s voice, picture the amused curve of his lips without bothering to look. They’ve had each other’s company for five centuries, give or take a vigilante’s lifetime.

“And yet you expect my _worship_ ,” Tim coos, invoking the ancient bit of slang for the pleasure of Ra’s irritated grumble.

“My most reverent of servants,” Ra’s says dryly, affection bleeding into his voice. Tim twists around to smile at his master before dropping to his knees.

“I am plenty reverent, oh god of mine. Shall I prove it to you?” Tim smirks up at Ra’s, and reaches for his belt.

***

The first thing Tim does when he sets foot into his master’s home is sweep Damian up into a tight hug. He hasn’t seen the child in far too long.

“Have you been good for your Grandfather, my little monster?” Tim asks. Damian grins mischievously.

“Yes, Grandmama,” Damian giggles, and leans in to whisper in his ear. “Mostly. Frogs are okay, right?”

“Frogs, huh?” Tim casts a long look at Ra’s, and smirks. “Good boy.”

Damian nods enthusiastically. “All over his bedroom. Aunt Konna helped me.”

“Tell Aunt Konna I approve the next time you see her,” Tim tells Damian. He sets the boy down reluctantly. “Grandfather and I have to discuss some things. I’ll tuck you in tonight.”

Ra’s is laughing at him behind his eyes. Tim can tell from the careful straightness of his expression. He takes Ra’s hand when he offers it, following him out of the entrance hall.

“He’ll grow out of it, you said?” Ra’s asks him quietly, trailing his fingers down Tim’s neck. Tim blushes hotly.

“Hush. It’s cute. And he’s effectively a five-year old. Give him a little time.” Tim’s going to miss it, when Damian’s healed enough to remember. ‘Drake’ has never sounded as sweet as ‘Grandmama.’

“He need not recall the past,” Ra’s tells Tim. Tim shakes his head empathetically.

“Damian deserves to remember Bruce and Dick.” Tim’s smile is bittersweet. Today has been a day too full of lost things. Ra’s wraps his arm around Tim’s waist, pulling the other against himself.

“You need not mourn alone,” Ra’s tells him, rocking them gently in the middle of the hallway. “We both were left bereft.”

Tim nods, wrapping his arms around Ra’s neck. So many people gone, so much progress lost. Talia had died with Bruce, howling defiance to the stars. _Tim_ had died with Bruce, but the universe hadn’t been kind enough to let him stay that way.

“Poor little sparrow,” Ra’s murmurs, kissing the top of Tim’s head. Tim breathes out, and leans against his master. Trusting, as he had five hundred years ago, that Ra’s would take care of him.

***

“Evening, monster-mine,” Tim calls out into the nursery. Damian looks up from the little easel, and runs over to Tim.

“Hi, Grandmama!” Damian says excitedly, bouncing on his toes.

“What have you been up to lately?” Tim asks, giving Damian his hand and letting the boy ‘lead’ him around the nursery.

“Aunt Konna and Uncle Rory came last week, and we drew. They say hello, and tell Tim to come home more,” Damian reports. Tim laughs. Konna and Rory are his oldest living children, and they take the job of watching out for their ‘mother’ very seriously.

It’s largely Tim’s own fault. It had taken him and Ra’s a long, long time before either of them was willing to risk loving somebody mortal again. And even then, both of them had needed safeguards: Konna had Kyrptonian DNA, and Rory, Tamaranean. Their children had been genetically engineered and gestated in artificial wombs, Tim watching their progress with an eagle eye. They often ended up bearing more responsibility than was fair for Tim’s mental health.

Tim made a mental note to visit his eldests sometime soon. Within the year, at very least.

“As soon as the satellites are launched, I’ll come home and stay for a decade,” Tim promises. “I miss my children.” Damian nods in satisfaction.

“Story time now,” he tells Tim imperiously. Tim bites back a smile.

“What do you want to hear about this time?” Tim asks him gravely. Damian considers.

“The flying boy and the bat,” Damian says. Tim’s not at all surprised.

“Come here then, my love, and let me tell you a tale.” Tim falls into the rhythm of tale-spinning easily, smiling softly at old memories. “About a time long before the old world ended, and a city as black as moonless midnight…”

***

Tim eases shut the nursery door, leaving Damian dreaming of a city now burned away.

“Grandson,” he whispers quietly, and smiles.


End file.
